


a castle in the clouds

by Pawprinter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal Bellamy Blake, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Murphy ships it, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Princess Clarke Griffin, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 12:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter
Summary: Clarke is about to have the worst week of her life.1) The Rebellion base she was in charge of was compromised.2) She is now on the run with Bellamy Blake — a man she can’t stand.3) His ship — theFalcon— is in desperate need of repair.4) They are trapped in what could possibly be enemy territory until then.And just when she thinks nothing else can possibly go wrong, she somehow finds herself in a fake relationship with said man.Great.or: a princess falls in love with a criminal over the course of a week and a dayA Star Wars AU





	a castle in the clouds

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bellarkefanfiction writing team fill with the prompt “Bellamy and Clarke as Han Solo and Princess Leia in any situation, maybe any in episode 5” requested by anonymous.
> 
> If you know me, then you know I've been in love with Star Wars since before I could form comprehensive thoughts. Which made filling this prompt very fun!
> 
> You do not need to know anything about Star Wars to read this fic, although there are some references to the original movies. These aren't necessary to understand the plot of the fic, but if you have any questions, feel free to ask!
> 
> Warnings: this fic does contain coarse language, violence, blood, description of injury, and death of a minor character. Violence and gore were limited to canon-typical levels, but please keep this in mind while reading.
> 
> The title for this fic is inspired by the song "There is a Castle On A Cloud" from Les Misérables.
> 
> Enjoy!

**i. day 1**

Clarke didn’t like this, not one bit.

As soon as they entered the planet’s atmosphere, a chill crept up her spine and stayed there. The floating mining colony was owned by a supposed long time friend of her travelling companion, and something felt  _ off  _ about it all.

Clarke knew they couldn’t be picky though. She was the leader of the Rebellion. He was a smuggler being tracked by both the Galactic Empire and crime lords. Their ship was damaged. They had nowhere to go.

_ Cloud City — and John Murphy — was their only option. _

“It’ll be fine,” Blake said, his face reflecting the different shades of blue and red from the control panel in front of him. He must’ve been able to sense her worry, which was hilarious, considering he was the most dense, egotistical, and oblivious person she knew. “Murphy’s an old friend.”

“And you trust him?” she pushed, picking at a loose thread in her lap. She couldn’t take her eyes off the wide windows of their ship — affectionately named the  _ Falcon _ — as they got closer to their destination. “You trust this Murphy?”

“No.” Most women might’ve found his grin charming. She, in fact, did not. Clarke scowled at him. “I used to run jobs with him, years ago. I haven’t seen him in a while, but he used to be cunning and slimy.”

“Great. Just great.”

“He’s a friend, and he owes me a favor.” Blake’s hands slowed over the consol, and a questionable expression rose on his face. “Or did  _ I  _ owe  _ him  _ a favor?”

Clarke wanted to scream. “That is a  _ pretty fucking  _ important distinction, Blake.”

Of course she had been stuck for  _ days  _ with none other than Bellamy Blake. While they were acquaintances, they couldn’t  _ stand  _ each other most times. He was insufferable. His ego was the size of a planet, he liked to think he was always right, he liked to run when things got tough, and he was selfish.

( _ Is he though? _ she thought.  _ If he is so selfish, why did he risk his life during the battle three years ago? If he didn’t care about anyone other than himself, why did he stay until the roof was collapsing on both of them three days ago — just so he ensured she got out safely. If he ran when things got tough, then why was he still here?) _

(Clarke brushed those thoughts aside. She didn’t have time to deal with them.)

They’d known each other for three years, ever since he came to her rescue when she had been imprisoned on the Death Star. Actually, from what she heard, it was Wells Jaha who came to rescue her and dragged Blake along, which honestly made more sense.

Since then, their interactions had been an adventure. They argued more than she argued with anyone else, which was saying something, considering she was a  _ politician.  _ There was nobody else in the galaxy that made her blood boil like Blake did, and she was proud of the fact it was mutual.

Except, it wasn’t all bad. There was something else between them — an understanding at first, which grew into something more. She cared about him — she cared about him a lot. She knew he was a good man, and it frustrated her to no end when he pretended otherwise. 

Clarke knew he cared about her too.

It was a strange and complicated relationship — one that she didn’t exactly have time for. She was a princess and a leader in the Rebellion, and she was in charge of troops — troops she needed to get back to. She didn’t have time for navigating this complicated relationship; she didn’t have time for a relationship, period.

“Hey, princess, it’ll work out. I promise.” Blake broke the thick silence that consumed them. The tension was growing with each second.

“Don’t call me that,” she quickly corrected him. “And don’t make promises you can’t keep. You don’t even know if this guy will remember you and, if he does, we don’t know if we can trust him or not.”

“We aren’t getting married to the guy. We don’t need to trust him  _ that  _ much. We just need a place to lay low for a few days — a week, tops — and a place to run a few repairs. He’s good for that.  _ Anyone  _ would be good for that.”

_ Except for people who aligned themselves with the Galactic Empire. _

She kept that thought to herself.

When they touched down on a landing platform, Blake turned to her, his gaze intense. She’d seen him angry, and she’d seen him stressed, and she’d seen him pressing a gun to someone’s head.

_ This  _ was different. More vulnerable, almost. Deeper.

She swallowed thickly, thrown by the intensity. 

“We’ll be fine,” he told her again. “Stay close to me, alright?”

She frowned. “I can take care of myself, Blake.”

“I know that, but I know this guy. I have an advantage here. I know we don’t always see eye to eye on everything, but… follow my lead. Okay, Griffin?”

While she wouldn’t go so far to call them friends, she  _ did  _ trust him. She trusted him with her life.

It was easy to answer.

“Okay.”

.

John Murphy was the slimiest person she had ever encountered.

As soon as they left the safety of their ship, she was on guard. She watched closely as Blake walked up the platform to meet him, her hand hovering close to the blaster on her hip. 

When Murphy peered around Blake’s shoulder to look at her, she stoned her features and lifted her chin. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by anyone, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He, unfortunately, was their last hope.

Her gaze flicked to Blake’s as soon as he turned. Their eyes met. He quickly cocked an eyebrow, as if that conveyed a message. She had no clue what it meant.

“Clarke,” he started as soon as he drew close enough. A jolt went through her system with the use of her first name. They rarely called each other by their first names. “This is John Murphy.”

Before she could begin to wonder why the hell he was calling her Clarke, he came to a stop beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. For a moment, she was stiff, before she relaxed into his side.

_ Play along,  _ he told her.  _ Follow my lead. _

She didn’t know what the fuck Blake was thinking, but she had to trust he knew best. Clarke acted like this was normal.

(She acted like she hadn’t been avoiding his touch for so long that it became second nature.)

“Murphy,” she greeted, her smile pleasant. “A pleasure.”

Really, it wasn’t.

Murphy stood a few paces in front of her and creeped her out. His hair was slicked back, his face adorned with makeup, his clothing cheaply made, and his gaze cold and calculating. To top off the look, a cape flowed from his shoulders, blowing in the strong wind on the landing platform.

If what Blake said was true, then Murphy was just like him — someone who had been involved with criminals, smuggled cargo across the galaxy, and never charged a fair price. She knew Blake had changed from that person, but did Murphy? 

“I’ve heard lots about the Princess of Death. It’s nice to finally meet her,” Murphy said, his voice disinterested. The muscles along Clarke’s back stiffened from the (well-earned) nickname. 

She almost preferred the other nickname of hers — the Princess of Nothing — bestowed on her when her planet was destroyed. Being known as the princess responsible for thousands of deaths; that was a hard thing to swallow. 

Murphy continued speaking, leading them into the castle in the clouds. Clarke trailed after him with Blake’s arm still over her shoulder. 

As they walked, her eyes scanned everything, looking for anything out of place. Her heart was racing and she had to fight the urge to take her blaster into her hands, just in case. The walls and floors were a spotless white. Large windows opened to the sky, showing cotton-tail clouds tinted red and orange.

It was beautiful, and Clarke learned early in her life that beautiful things often hid ugly truths.

They toured the relatively small compound with Murphy guiding their way. It didn’t take long for Murphy and Blake to be on good terms again; they were laughing easily and trading old jokes. Clarke wanted to pinch Blake in the side.

_ Pay attention,  _ she wanted to snap.  _ We don’t know this man. _

Except, he did, and she had to trust his judge of character.

Clarke tried her best to stay alert, but she was exhausted. Four days ago, she had been living on a snow-covered planet and been in charge of hundreds of troops. It was stressful, of course, but nothing compared to the following four days.

The Rebellion base was attacked. Many lives were lost. Her and Blake had been the last two out of the base, narrowly escaping capture.

Being on the run hadn’t been easy either. They were followed by Imperial ships for days and, when they finally found a place to lay low and repair their ship, the cave turned out to be infested with creatures that could’ve killed them.

She didn’t remember the last time she had a decent sleep. Not within the last four days, that was for sure — she couldn’t imagine a world where she could sleep well knowing many of the Rebellion fighters died under her watch and that she was being hunted.

The more they walked, the more she pressed into Blake’s side, desperately trying to convey her state. Her bones ached. Her head throbbed. She fought to keep her legs from buckling under her from her exhaustion.

Finally, she caught his eyes. His brows pushed together. “You okay?”

If this was any normal circumstance, she would’ve put up a fight, insisting that  _ of course she was okay  _ because she hated relying on others. Even with something as simple as needing sleep — if it was her problem, she wanted to deal with it alone.

“Tired.” 

“Murphy,” Blake called, cutting off his rambling friend. They came to a stop down one of the many white hallways. “I think we’re going to cut this tour short. We’ve been at it for a few days and need to crash.”

Clarke leaned into his side more, hoping he got the message.  _ Thank fucking god. _

.

Of course.

Of course something had to go wrong.

Clarke sat down heavily on the corner of the bed, her head falling to her hands.

The  _ single  _ bed.

In the  _ single  _ room that she was  _ sharing  _ with  _ Bellamy fucking Blake. _

Fuck.

Blake sat down on the adjacent corner of the bed, uncharacteristically silent. She didn’t have the energy to even look at him, but she felt the bed shift with his weight. 

“What, exactly, did you say to get us in this situation?” she asked, pulling her face out of her hands.

“Well, princess, I had to explain a lot of shit in a short amount of time,” Blake said heatedly. She was tempted to tell him not to call her that again. They were both tired and running with short tempers. “I told him we were in trouble and needed a place to lay low for a while. He knows who you are, obviously, and that means he knows about your ties to the Rebellion. If… If his intentions  _ aren’t  _ in the right place, then that’s a liability.”

“And how does that result in us  _ sharing  _ a room, Blake?”

He gave her a hard look. “Relax, Griffin,” he hissed, “I’m getting to it. Maybe you should learn some patience.”

“Maybe you should learn some manners.”

“Oh,” he said sarcastically, “I forgot who I was speaking to. Forgive me, your  _ royal highness, _ I didn’t mean any harm. I’m just a  _ scruffy  _ criminal who doesn’t know any better.”

“Fuck off, Blake. You know, you  _ love  _ to take my words and twist them into something else.” Clarke ground her teeth together and tried to force her annoyance back. At the moment, Blake was the only one that she could trust. They needed to be on the same side. “I cut you off. Earlier.”

“You did.”

He wasn’t making this easy. She clenched her fists together. “Can you tell me why Murphy put us in one room with one bed? I think you owe me that much.”

Blake pushed off the bed, muttering under his breath. He was frustrated. She was frustrated. Of course, she had to get stuck in the outer districts with  _ him. _

Just when Clarke had almost given up on getting an answer, he spoke. “He knows you’re apart of the Rebellion, Griffin, and I don’t know the guy  _ that  _ well. He could, I don’t know, try to kill you in your sleep or something.”

“Very reassuring. I’m glad we came here.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and spun to her. The muscles in his jaw were tensed and his gaze intense. It made her mouth run dry.

“I thought that we would have a better chance at survival if we are  _ together _ . Don’t you agree, princess?”

She didn’t know what he was looking for. She kept her tone even. “Of course. Two is always better than one.” He looked relieved with her agreement. She sighed. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Why the hell are we sharing?”

“I might have told Murphy that we’re, uh,  _ together  _ so he’d put us in the same room.” Clarke’s heart froze with his admission. She was stiff with tension. She must’ve looked as shocked as she felt, because Blake continued speaking hasilty. “No matter how big of a pain in my ass you are, I don’t want you being murdered in the middle of the night. At least if we’re together, we have a better chance at getting out of here alive.”

The corners of Clarke’s lips twitched. “Or, worst case scenario, we die together.”

That seemed to diffuse the growing tension in the room. Blake’s shoulders seemed to smooth. He  _ almost  _ smiled, but she chalked that up to a trick of the light. Bellamy Blake wouldn’t be caught dead smiling at her jokes.

“Right. Or we die together.”

Tension was building again. Clarke was looking anywhere except at Blake. Even though his logic was sound, it didn’t make this situation any less strange. 

She was going to have to share a bed with Blake.

Blake — the man that had been a pain in her ass for three years, who was put in this universe to cause her obscene amounts of frustration, who she couldn’t stand for more than ten minutes at a time.

(Blake — the man that ensured her survival by dragging her from the Rebellion base as it collapsed, the man that had her back in more than one dicey situation they got caught up in, the man that stayed up for multiple nights straight to get them here.)

(Maybe things could be worse.)

“How are we doing this?” she asked after the silence stretched too long for her liking. Blake was still pacing around the room, but turned to catch her eye. “Are you going to be chivalrous and offer to sleep on the floor?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “When have I  _ ever  _ been chivalrous, princess?” It was hard not to smile. “Are  _ you  _ going to be chivalrous and offer to sleep on the floor?” he countered. “Or did they not cover that in royalty training?”

“Strange enough, they  _ didn’t  _ cover what to do when you’re on the run from the Galactic Empire, hiding in what could possibly be an Imperial mining colony, sharing a room with an ex-criminal who just so happens is your faux-lover.” Blake laughed at that, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. 

There was something about the situation that was making her feel more open around him. Maybe it was because he was the only one in the galaxy that knew she was alive. For now, they only had each other and their wits to rely on.

John Murphy might have been  _ their  _ last hope, but Bellamy Blake was  _ hers _ . 

“Are we sleeping in shifts?” he asked.

“I thought you were the one with the plan?” she countered. “After all, it was  _ you  _ who came up with this plan in the first place.”

“All I’m hearing is; ‘thank you, Bellamy, your brilliant mind saved our lives.’” He looked cocky. Clarke hated it.

“Never in my life have I called you Bellamy.”

“Better get used to it, princess. If I have to call you Clarke, you’re going to have to call me Bellamy.”

She hated this, too, but he was right. If they were supposed to be lovers, it would make sense they were on first-name basis.

“Whatever.” Clarke stood from the bed and began to undo the buttons of her jacket. Blake shifted on his feet a few feet away from her, his hands buried deep in his pockets. It looked like he wanted to say something more, but didn’t. He was an enigma that she didn’t care to crack. “Regarding sleeping in shifts; I don’t think it’ll work, unless you’re willing to only sleep three hours a night. If we’re staying in the compound until the ship is fixed, I’m sure we’ll need to socialize, and that requires  _ both  _ of us being awake during the day.” She tossed her jacket on the single chair in the room.

“The ship shouldn’t take too long to fix up,” he said. Blake followed her lead and began to work on getting his jacket off, too. “Hopefully we won’t be here for too long. I have places to be.”

_ Right,  _ she thought, somewhat miserably,  _ he is leaving. _

It was the topic of their latest argument, back on the snow-covered planet. He stayed with the Rebellion for three years; he helped get the base running, he helped train troops, he and Wells’ became pretty close friends. And yet, after all of that, he  _ still  _ wanted to leave.

He needed to pay back a few debts to criminal organizations that he used to work for — she knew that much, but he had been so unwilling to share his plans for  _ after.  _ They needed every hand they could get, and he was leaving.

When the attack happened and the base fell, she thought he might’ve changed his mind. After all, he had already been discharged from the Rebellion — he could’ve left anytime he wanted.  _ But he didn’t.  _ He stayed until the very end.

Obviously, she misinterpreted all of that though.

Clarke may have thrown her sweater onto the couch more violently than she intended. Blake watched her, his lips pressed tightly together, but he didn’t say anything. When she reached for the buttons on her pants, his eyebrows flew up.

“Woah, princess. Usually I buy a lady dinner before, but—”

“Shut up,” she snapped, glaring at him. “I’m  _ not  _ in the mood for your crude humour, Blake, so take it somewhere else. If we’re sleeping — and yes, I do mean  _ sleeping  _ — then I am not wearing these awful pants.”

With that, she pulled them off her body and threw them onto the couch.

She turned to Blake, her expression cool and her eyebrows lifted in silent challenge. His eyes were wider than before, like he was  _ shocked  _ by her actions.

_ Good,  _ she thought as she climbed under the covers.  _ He deserves to be shown up every once and awhile. _

Almost immediately after laying down, she shut her eyes. She wasn’t lying earlier — she was  _ exhausted.  _ The last week had been filled with battles, and death, and running. She was so tired of it all — of the war, of losing people she cared about, of fearing for the future.

She was already partially asleep when the light was flicked off and Bellamy climbed into bed beside her. The bed was large enough that they didn’t touch, but she could still feel his heat along her back.

“Wake me up if someone is trying to kill us,” she mumbled, her voice already hoarse with sleep.

“Will do, princess.”

Clarke fell asleep easily.

* * *

**ii. day 2**

Pretending to be Blake’s partner was easier than it should’ve been.

Life in Cloud City was different than life in the Rebellion — it was lighter and made it feel easier to breathe. Clarke had got so used to everyone turning to  _ her  _ for direction that she almost forgot what it was like to be normal.

Although, when had she ever been normal? She was raised as heir to the throne of Alderaan and quickly rose ranks in the Rebellion when she joined. Clarke Griffin had never been  _ normal. _

But she imagined that her time in Cloud City was pretty close to what normal would have felt like.

Meals were a community affair, with everyone gathering in the mess hall to eat three times a day. Her elbow bumped into Blake’s approximately twenty three times over the course of a half hour. Somehow, they were deemed as being guests of honour, which meant they sat at the head table alongside Murphy.

Murphy was… interesting, to say the least. He had a crude sense of humor, much like Blake’s, and had absolutely no filter. One thing she appreciated about him was his blunt honesty.

(“You two look like shit,” he told them when they arrived for breakfast that morning. “Bellamy, are you  _ sure  _ you have slept more than five minutes within the last fifteen years? Hell, Clarke, why are you dating this mess?”)

Yeah. Murphy was alright.

Their first day in Cloud City was spent at the  _ Falcon _ , doing everything they could to get it up and running again.

Clarke was seated on the ground in the cockpit, a box of mismatched tools on her lap. Screwdrivers of various sizes were scattered on the floor around her. Her frustration was starting to spike.

“Fuck, Blake, do you own  _ any  _ screwdriver that’s the proper size?” 

She threw down another unsuccessful screwdriver and slumped against the metal wall. Her legs were asleep. Her eyes hurt from squinting through a tiny panel to reach a clump of wires  _ (“that are not properly installed, dumbass,”  _ she told Blake). Her hand already had two blisters from using the galaxy’s tiniest screwdriver on a project in the main hold.

“I’ve had this ship for more than half my life, and I don’t think I’ve purchased tools for it once,” he answered honestly. His voice was muffled from it being stuck under the control panel. “I can’t say for certain that I own a screwdriver for every screw on this damn ship.”

Clarke kicked her foot against his and frowned. “Don’t be mean to it. This ‘damn ship’ is the only reason we’re both alive.”

Blake kicked her foot back. “She knows I love her.”

Clarke picked up another screwdriver and hoped it was the right one. Of course, it wasn’t, and she threw it to the ground. Blake pulled his head out from the dash and looked at her, clearly amused.

“This isn’t funny, Blake. I need to get into this panel. Your docking mechanisms are all fucked up — I’ve told you that for years, by the way — and Reyes told me the faulty wire should be behind this one panel.”

Blake lifted his eyebrow. “You asked Reyes about  _ my  _ ship?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She kicked his foot. He kicked hers back. “I need a screwdriver.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, princess. Go ask Murphy for one?” 

Clarke tossed a loose screw at his abdomen. “For a mechanic, you’re not very helpful.”

“First of all, I’m not a mechanic.” He pulled himself entirely out of the control panel, sliding across the floor towards her. “I’m just a man who owns a fucking  _ fantastic  _ ship and somehow manages to keep it flying out of pure luck.”

“Great.” Her head connected with the hollow paneling behind her and she closed her eyes.

She heard Blake shuffling around the cockpit, but she didn’t reopen her eyes. Her head was pounding. This really wasn’t her forte. She’d always been one to manage logistics, not mechanics.

The light disappeared. When she reopened her eyes, Blake was a lot closer than she realized, blocking the sunlight streaming in from the front window. He crouched a few inches away from her.

“What are you doing?” 

She pulled herself into a straighter sitting position and watched Blake closely. He was so close that it reminded her of the morning, when she woke up and discovered her leg was thrown over his. 

Clarke swallowed thickly.

“I’m trying to find the screwdriver you need.” He poked around the toolbox between her knees, his gaze focused. She let her eyes wander across his face and along his body, having nothing better to do.

His hair was on the longer side. For a while, back at base, he kept his hair short and she had gptten used to it. Now, it curled against his neck and hung over his forehead. It was nice. The curls suited him.

He was wearing the same stupid outfit as always, minus their thick parkas they left back in their room. While the Rebellion base was on a planet in eternal winter, Cloud City seemed to be permanently stuck in summer. It was  _ hot  _ during the day _ ,  _ stifling so.

Even though she arguably hated him, she had to admit his body was nice.  _ Really nice.  _ Broad shoulders, toned arms, muscled  _ everywhere.  _ Usually she tried to ignore it because he was an insufferable asshole, but she almost forgot that fact now that he was silent.

Clarke jolted when he tapped her inner knee with the back of his hand hand. She understood what he was meaning and moved her leg out of the way.

“You found a screwdriver?” He lifted a knife in answer, like that explained everything. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“It means I’m going to have to get creative. No screwdriver, unfortunately, and you’re hell-bent on fixing my docking mechanism.” 

He leaned over her so he could stick his head through the wall. Clarke was trapped between his body and the hollow wall behind her. She was tempted to tell him off for invading her personal space, but she stopped herself. After all, they were supposed to be lovers; she might as well get used to being in close physical contact with him. 

_ Obviously  _ there wasn’t another reason she wasn’t going to tell him off. It had nothing to do with the fact he looked  _ really fucking good  _ right now, and it had nothing to do with the fact that her stomach was filling with butterflies.

Not. One. Bit.

She cleared her throat and shifted. “Isn’t using a knife to unscrew that a little dangerous?” she questioned. “I feel like you’re going to cut your finger off.”

Blake must not have been able to hear her. He didn’t resurface. “I think I can fit this in the head, and— Yes!” He pulled back, an excited expression on his face and the damned screw in the palm of his hand. “Got it!”

Clarke felt her lips curving into a smile from the look on his face. She didn’t recall ever seeing this type of smile from him before; it was so  _ full  _ and made his eyes crinkle. There was something so vulnerable and innocent about his excitement. It was endearing. 

Blake was oblivious to her lingering stare. He lifted both hands and wiggled his fingers. “See? They’re all here.” Ah, so he heard her concern earlier, and had just been ignoring her. “Using a knife instead of a screwdriver isn’t dangerous — it’s innovative.”

Clarke pushed his shoulder lightly. He, being the dramatic man that he was, toppled onto his ass between her knees. They both laughed.

.

While Cloud City was scorching during the day, it was beyond freezing at night.

Clarke discovered this fact during their second night on the mining colony, long after the sun had set. Blake was asleep beside her and she wanted to hate him for falling asleep before it got too cold in the room.

The night hadn’t started out bad. In fact, the temperature in the room had been comfortable to begin with. That was when Blake fell asleep.

Now, she was shivering. She tried adjusting the thermostat, but  _ of course,  _ the one in their room was broken. Clarke tried fending off the chill by wrapping her half of the blanket around her body, but that didn’t help much. She was contemplating pulling on her pants and sweater again when—

“You’re shaking more than the  _ Falcon’s _ engine did when the spark plugs wore out,” Blake said groggily, cutting through the silence.

Clarke was surprised he was awake. His back was to her, and she thought he was sleeping.

“You woke me,” he said, as if he could read her thoughts. He was more awake now and shifting on the bed. Clarke felt guilty for waking him up. They both needed to catch up on all the sleep they lost. 

“Sorry. I can move to the floor if you want. I don’t want to—”

“Now look who’s being all chivalrous,” he teased. He turned so he was facing her. Clarke could barely see his features through the dark; the only light came through the thin slits of the curtains. One thing she could see was the curve of his lips. He was smiling. “I wasn’t kicking you out of the bed, princess. I’m already up.”

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “It’s fucking freezing in here and your friend gave us a room with a broken thermostat.”

“Sounds about right. Murphy kind of sucks.”

They both laughed at that. Clarke could feel his breath wash over her face. 

She couldn’t stop staring at him. While she couldn’t see them, she could imagine all the freckles across his face. They reminded her of stars in the sky. His eyes were open too, and he was watching her. She wondered what he was thinking about.

“Remind me to bring blankets back from the  _ Falcon _ tomorrow,” Blake requested. “It’s fucking freezing.” On queue, Clarke shivered. Blake shifted closer to her and lifted his free arm. “Come here.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Come here. It’s cold out. I’m freezing. You’re freezing. Sharing body heat is a thing, princess.”

“Maybe it’s a thing in porn, but—” She faltered. She could feel his body heat already, just from him shifting a few inches closer to her. It was tempting. “Fine. Don’t say a word about it.”

Clarke scooted across the bed, closing the remaining distance between them, and it was  _ bliss.  _ She relaxed into him almost immediately. His arm tucked around her waist and her hands came up to rest against his chest. Her feet moved forward, brushing against his, and—

“Fuck!” Blake jolted his legs back. “What the fuck do you have down there? Ice cubes?”

“Shut up. I’m cold.” Clarke may or may not have snuggled into his side.

Laying in Bellamy Blake’s arms  _ shouldn’t  _ have felt so natural to her, but it was comfortable and warm. Really, she should’ve been disturbed by the fact she was willingly cuddled up against this asshole, but—

She wasn’t.

It was nice. More than nice, if she was being honest. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been held by anyone. It had been  _ years.  _ Who was the last person to hug her? Wells, maybe, but those hugs lasted for a few seconds at a time. Her father, but he was murdered three years ago, and the years leading up to his death were spent away from him.

Beyond that, it was hard to remember. Being surrounded by warmth, even if that warmth was from Blake, reminded her of simpler times, and it managed to calm a storm inside of her that she hadn’t realized was brewing.

She was close to falling asleep. Her breathing evened out. Her senses dulled. She was warm, and at peace, and—

“Is this one of your wildest fantasies? Laying in bed with the infamous Bellamy Blake?” Blake’s voice disrupted the peace that came with darkness. She pressed her toes against his leg again in response. He jolted. “Fuck!”

* * *

**iii. day 3**

Dinner the next day was an interesting affair.

Clarke and Blake sat beside each other, across from Murphy. She was only half-listening to their conversation; she couldn’t stop thinking of how different the mining colony was. This was the first place she had encountered that wasn’t under direct or indirect rule of the Galactic Empire, nor was it officially part of the Rebellion. It was neutral, had political freedom, and supposedly no ties to the war.

It was interesting though; how could  _ anywhere  _ have no ties to the war? Didn’t they participate in foreign trade? How could they be the complete neutral territory that they claimed, especially in the climate the galaxy was in now? The Galactic Empire was everywhere and, if someone didn’t support them, they had no chance of survival without the Rebels.

Something didn’t feel right, and it had been nagging at her since she first heard of the city. She had a feeling the city wasn’t what it claimed to be, and the truth was much darker.

“You’ve been quiet,” Murphy pointed out, waving his fork in her direction. She hadn’t realized the conversation between him and Blake had died off, too caught up in her thoughts. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh.” Clarke tried to think of an excuse that wouldn’t cause friction with Murphy. “Uh, well…”

“She’s probably caught up with her own thoughts again,” Blake said, his voice more affectionate than she remembered hearing before. His elbow bumped hers playfully. “I don’t know if you know this, Murph, but Clarke is a genius. She’s the one doing most of the repairs to the  _ Falcon.” _

Clarke bit her lip to stop her smile and leaned into his side. He was stretching the truth a lot — she was helping with repairs, but she wasn’t the one who had spent more than half her life on the ship. Blake knew more about the  _ Falcon  _ than she ever could.

“Maybe you can have a look at one of our hangers then? If you’re good at fixing up that pile of shit Bellamy flies around, maybe you’ll be able to salvage one of our pieces of junk.”

Fuck. She  _ definitely  _ couldn’t salvage any ship to save her life.

“Bellamy’s being modest,” she said quickly. “I take instructions from a friend, that’s all. When it comes to the  _ Falcon,  _ I’m more of a doer, not a thinker.” 

Which was true. Whatever she did on the  _ Falcon  _ was usually directed by Reyes or Blake. She couldn’t imagine a time where she’d be able to step on the ship and know exactly what to touch to fix a problem.

“She’s a thinker, maybe not with the _ Falcon  _ and other repairs, but she’s brilliant.” Clarke’s heart skipped a beat at how  _ genuine  _ Blake sounded in that moment. She turned to him, her eyes widened and lips parted. He was looking at her like she hung the stars in the sky and it took her breath away. “I swear, she’s one of the smartest people I’ve met — no offense, Murphy.”

He turned to his friend, the same expression on his face. “Back at the base, she spent her free time in the medical bay. Last year, she noticed a pattern with certain symptoms and figured out our food supply was lacking in certain vitamins.  _ Then,  _ she went to those in charge of our supplies and figured out different ways to ration the necessary foods so our people could survive winter.”

Clarke felt her heart warming as he spoke. She didn’t know he remembered that. Hell, she didn’t know that he was aware she spent time in the medical bay at all. 

Blake wasn’t done speaking. “Not only is she brilliant, but she’s  _ good _ , you know? Who would spend their free time in the medical bay? Especially someone who spends every other waking second in the logistics division, strategizing and planning. 

“And, fuck, she’s a natural born leader. Do you remember Beckett? He was a  _ shitty  _ leader. I wouldn’t even call him a leader. He liked to sit behind a nice wooden desk, and he talked a good game, and all he ever seemed good at doing was telling us what to do. Did you ever see him with us on the front lines? No. But Clarke is right there — always right beside us, always willing to risk everything for something she believes in. She wouldn’t tell anyone to do anything she wasn’t willing to do herself.  _ That’s  _ what a leader should be.” He locked eyes with Clarke, a tender smile on his lips. “She’s great. The galaxy is better with her in it.”

She was at a loss for words.

Clarke knew this was all an act. She knew Blake was making things up as he spoke to try and cover their tracks. They were supposed to be in love, and his high praises were apart of that.

_ Yet, his words made her chest tighten with emotion. _

“And yet you don’t mention anything about yourself?” she countered. “The galaxy is better with you in it, too. You bring so much forward — so much good, and strength, and compassion. Not only with how you fly — which you are amazing at, by the way — but with the way you approach problems, with the way you view the world. Even when everyone has given up, if you’ve set your mind to it, you will find a way to succeed.” 

She turned to Murphy. “He talks about me helping in the medical bay, but Bellamy helps take care of the children.  _ Children.  _ They’re messy, and don’t listen, and can cry for hours, but Bellamy handles them with so much care and love. They all adore him there. They  _ beg  _ for him to come and read them bedtime stories, or teach them how to paint, or play with them. It’s the sweetest thing.”

This was supposed to be pretend, but she believed every word she said. She didn’t have to lie to sing high praises to him, because he  _ deserved _ those high praises. Without him, she didn’t know where the Rebellion would be — she didn’t know where  _ she  _ would be. He saved her more times than she could count on one hand.

She locked eyes with Bellamy. Something passed between them — understanding, maybe? Her heart was racing in her chest. She felt overcome with appreciation for the man beside her.

Clarke brushed her elbow against his. His grin made her stomach flip.

“You two are unbearably sweet,” Murphy decided, taking a long sip from his cup. He watched them over the brim of the glass. “I’m going to vomit.”

“Screw off, Murphy,” Bellamy said, turning away from her. 

The moment between them shattered.

Clarke moved her elbow away from his, her heart pounding in her chest. 

_ If this was supposed to be pretend, then why did it feel so real? _

.

She woke up screaming.

Clarke couldn’t remember what her nightmare was about, but the fear she felt ripped her awake. She jolted upright, a scream getting trapped between her tightly pressed lips.

She was shaking. The room blurred around her, and the darkness made it impossible to distinguish any features. The blanket was tangled around her legs and she clutched at the sheets beneath her, desperate to get a grip on reality.

She knew it wasn’t real. She knew it was a nightmare. She knew, she knew, she knew—

Clarke burst into tears.

Everything overwhelmed her all at once. While she didn’t remember the details of the dream, she could still feel the remnants, like poison curling into her veins. Her body ached. Her soul felt torn.

“Hey. Hey, Clarke, it’s alright. You’re alright.”

His hands were warm on her back, and that was when she remembered where she was. She was laying beside Bellamy. She was on the run with Bellamy.

She sucked in a deep breath and tightened her hold on the sheets under her. Bellamy kept a hand on her back as he moved to sit beside her. She didn’t dare turn to him.

There was something about a human touch that soothed her soul. She hadn’t had one for so long, she almost forgot how calming it was. The simple touch on her back seemingly tethered her to the present and reminded her she wasn’t alone.

Clarke fought for composure. It felt ridiculous, crying over a nightmare like she was a small child.

_ (Just because you’re not a child anymore doesn’t mean you’re impervious to hurt,  _ she told herself.  _ Hurting is okay.) _

Except, she didn’t want to hurt. She wanted to keep pretending she was the perfect princess the Rebellion liked to see. (She  _ needed _ to.) People looked to her for strength, and she couldn’t crack — she couldn’t let people see that she was human like the rest of them.

They needed a leader that didn’t break, no matter how great the pressure, no matter how big the threat.

And this? Falling apart while on a mission back to the Rebellion base? Falling apart beside Bellamy Blake — a man that was apart of the Rebellion? This wasn’t okay.

“Are you alright?” Bellamy inched closer to her. His hand on her back turned into an arm around her side. She let herself melt into his embrace. “Are you hurt?”

She wasn’t crying anymore, but her voice sounded hoarse. “No. Nightmare.” Clarke turned to face him. She could see the features of his face and feel his breath across her cheeks, they were so close together. “It was just a nightmare.”

Clarke refused to fall apart any more in front of him.

She rubbed her face vigorously and forced her emotions back. “I’m fine. Just overreacting.”

“You aren’t overreacting, Clarke. This is  _ normal.  _ Emotions are  _ normal.” _ His hand flexed against her back and her heart rate spiked, suddenly fearing him removing his touch. “You know… it’s okay to fall apart every once and awhile.”

Clarke scoffed. “No, it isn’t.  _ Not for me.  _ Everyone is relying on me — everyone depends on me. Everyone in the Rebellion — they need me to  _ not  _ have emotions. They need me to be strong. I can’t fall apart.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I  _ won’t  _ fall apart.”

Bellamy removed his hand from her back. She immediately missed the warmth.

“I don’t need you to not have emotions. And you  _ are strong,  _ Clarke. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. Emotions don’t make you weak — they make you human.”

Something about his tenderness made her resolve waver. She wanted to cry again.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice coming out harsher than she intended. As if to prove her point, she laid back in bed. “I’m okay.”

Bellamy laid down beside her. She could feel his eyes on her, examining her. She fought to keep her expression blank, but it was a losing battle. The darkness weighed heavily on her, crushing her.

“It’s okay not to be okay,” he said after a long moment. “What will help?”  _ A simple touch. Something to show I’m not alone. Someone I can hold onto.  _ “Do you want to talk about it? The nightmare? Will that help?”

“No,” she said. Then, with a bout of confidence, she added, “Can you hold me? Please?”

Clarke was afraid she crossed a line when he didn’t respond right away.  _ Of course he wasn’t going to hold her, they weren’t friends.  _ But falling asleep in his arms last night was peaceful, and she  _ needed  _ that peace.

After a long pause, Bellamy shifted forward, pulling her into his embrace. His arms wrapped around her like they did the night before, and they seemed to ease the pain in her soul — just the slightest bit.

“Anything for you, princess.”

_ And she believed him. _

* * *

**iv. day 4**

On the fourth day, Clarke found it easier to pretend. It was easier to walk beside him, his arm around her shoulders. She found herself watching him when he spoke, enjoying the way his eyes changed and lips moved. She found herself  _ wanting  _ to be spending her days with him.

Despite knowing him for years, she didn’t really  _ know  _ him. She didn’t know that he took two milk in his tea, nor that he prefered strawberry jam over raspberry. She didn’t know that he talked to himself as he worked on repairs, and she didn’t know that his commentary was hilarious.

Clarke also didn’t know how kind he truly was. She almost felt bad for dismissing him as an asshole only a few days prior, but, then again, he  _ had  _ been a pretty big asshole to her.

They were settling into something sweeter than before. When they landed in Cloud City, she wasn’t sure if she would name him a friend — he was more of an acquaintance, or working partner. Now, there was no doubt in her mind.

Bellamy Blake was someone she cared about. She considered him a friend, and a good friend at that.

(Funny; being on the run together from a Sith Lord that wanted to kill you seemingly had that effect.)

They left the dinning hall and were on their way to the  _ Falcon  _ when one of the Cloud City workers approached them. “Dr. Griffin, are you able to take a look at one of our patient files? I heard that you’re very knowledgeable, and we’re desperate.”

“Oh.” Clarke stared blankly at the worker as the request registered. “Well, I’m not a doctor, but I can take a look?”

“Please.”

Clarke turned to Bellamy. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

He pulled her close, leaned down, and pressed his lips against the side of her heard. Her heart stopped and her mouth ran dry at the action. “See you tonight.”

As she walked away, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Being around Bellamy made her feel like she was flying and falling at the same time, and it was one of the most beautiful feelings she could recall.

It was ten minutes later when she realized it.

_ She was falling for him. _

.

It happened again the next night. Not a kiss on the side of her head; a nightmare.

For the second night in a row, she woke up screaming. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that it felt like she was going to crack in two. She could barely breathe through her sobs. The guilt and the hurt crashed against her, the waves unrelenting.

Bellamy was at her side again, just like the night before.

_ Unlike the night before, she remembered the nightmare. _

“Clarke, hey, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare.” 

He didn’t just lay a hand on her back this night; he wrapped his arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her to his side. Her hands moved from clutching at the sheets to clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

Her hair stuck to her face from her tears. She was shaking. Her breathing was heavy, like she had been running. 

(She wanted to run. She wanted to run away from everything; from the heaviness in her soul, from all the responsibilities on her shoulders, from the future that grew darker every day.)

“I’m fine,” she tried to say, but she couldn’t manage to get it out between her sobs.

“You don’t have to talk to me about it, but that doesn’t mean you’re fine,” he told her. “You’re as human as I am, Clarke, and  _ I’m not fine all the time. _ ”

“People don’t look to you to be strong, Bellamy,” she sobbed. “They look to me. They look at me and need me to be invincible; because, if I’m not, then neither is the Rebellion.  _ They need me to be fine. _ ”

Bellamy was silent for a long moment, and she continued to cry. She couldn’t pull her mind off the damn dream. Everything had been so vivid, she could’ve sworn it was real.  _ It hurt. _

She dreamed of her family, all of which were long dead. She dreamed of the day they were all murdered; right before her eyes. She dreamed of the days before she met Wells and Bellamy on the Death Star; when she was still a prisoner.

Clarke hadn’t had a moment of silence since that day, even though it was three years ago. She was rescued and she became the face of the Rebellion. She had people that needed her, attacks to plan, troops to care for.

She loved the Rebellion with her whole heart, but she hadn’t had a single day off in over three years. Now, with nothing but time on her hands, the world seemed to be crashing down around her. The grief she had been pushing off for so long was pushing back.

“They aren’t here.”

The words startled her so much that she pulled her head away from his chest. Bellamy was looking at her, a ferocity in his gaze that she hadn’t seen before.

“What?”

“They aren’t here, Clarke. The Rebellion? Your people? They aren’t here. It’s just us.” He brushed some of her hair off of her cheeks, his fingertips ghosting along her skin. “We’re far away from the war, far away from the Rebellion, far away from everything stopping you from letting it out. It’s just the two of us here, in a dark room, in the middle of nowhere.

“I don’t need you to be strong, Clarke, not all the time. You deserve a chance to be human; to cry, and talk, and forget your responsibilities. You aren’t invincible, and that makes you  _ human.  _ That doesn’t make you any less of a leader.”

Maybe it was because she was exhausted of running, and maybe it was because she needed to tell someone, and maybe it was because she trusted him, but the words came easily after that.

“Everyone I love is dead,” she said, her voice shaking. “The planet I grew up on — Alderaan — it was wiped out when I was captured by the Emperor.  _ My family was on it.  _ My friends. Everyone I swore to protect — everyone I knew.  _ They’re all dead. _ ” Now that she started talking, it was hard to stop. “I just…  _ Fuck.  _ I wonder if it was worth it sometimes, and I know it makes me a horrible person. Was putting the Rebellion ahead of all those innocent people worth it? Did I make the right choice?”

Bellamy took a while to consider his answer.

“There was no right choice,” he told her. “If you gave up the information on the Rebellion that they were looking for,  _ millions  _ more would’ve died. You did the best you could, Clarke. You protected your cause, you escaped, and you went on to be the spark that blew up the Death Star. Right?  _ It was worth it. _ ”

It was a while before she spoke again. “I’m a monster.”

His arms tightened around her. “So am I.”

Bellamy held her as she cried that night.

* * *

**v. day 5**

As it turned out, the medical bay needed a doctor the next day as well. Clarke was happy to fill in. She loved helping people, and this was something she rarely got to do with the Rebellion. Her leadership position was more important, especially considering they had medical droids on most bases.

It was just after one in the afternoon and she was standing behind a desk, studying the medical files from a patient with a recurring illness, when she felt warm arms wrap around her abdomen.

Clarke didn’t have to fake her smile in response.

“Hi.” She turned around in Bellamy’s grasp so she could view his face. Clarke stifled a laugh — his face was covered in several streaks of grease. He must’ve been working on the engine. “This is a surprise.”

“I thought I’d make sure they were feeding you down here.” Bellamy pressed a kiss to the top of her head before dropping his arms from around her. “Want to go for lunch?”

Her smile was as genuine as her racing heart.

“Sure.”

.

That night, Clarke couldn’t fall asleep. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she knew she had been lying in bed for hours.

Bellamy was still awake too; she could tell by the rhythm of his breaths. She wondered what he was thinking about.

In the dark, she felt brave. 

She spoke, breaking the silence.

“Yesterday, you told me that you were a monster,” she said, her voice hoarse. He turned his head to look at her. “You’re not one, Bellamy. You’re a good person, even if you like to pretend otherwise. What I said the other day is true; you’re passionate, and dedicated, and  _ good.  _ You take care of people you love. Even though you claimed you didn’t want to be in the Rebellion, you worked hard at everything. You took care of the kids, and you helped trained pilots, and you went after soldiers that got stuck beyond the blast doors. You are better than you give yourself credit for.”

“Except, I am a monster.” He looked away from her. “I’ve killed people. You know that, right? I looked at people in the eyes and killed them. I am a  _ criminal,  _ Clarke — one that used to do anything if it meant money in the end.”

Clarke shook her head. “We’re at war — the whole galaxy has been at war since before we were born. You’re  _ trying,  _ Bellamy, and you’ve been trying for the last three years. You’ve been working with the Rebellion, trying to get the galaxy right again. You’ve saved lives, too, it hasn’t just been me. Your work with the Rebellion has  _ saved lives. _ ”

He snorted. “Which is why I wanted to leave,” he said, his voice bitter. “Whenever things get rough, I leave.”

“You haven’t left yet.” Her heart was pounding in her chest. “You could have left at anytime you wanted to over these last few years, but you didn’t. You stayed, you fought, you’re still here. Even if you have done bad things in the past, you can do better. You  _ are  _ better. You’re not a bad person, and you’re not someone who leaves when things get difficult.”

_ Please don’t leave now. Please don't be planning on leaving when the ship is fixed. Please — change your mind. _

She didn’t know when it changed over the last few days, but the thought of him leaving now made her chest ache. 

His words from the first night echoed in her mind.  _ “The ship shouldn’t take too long to fix up. Hopefully we won’t be here for long. I have places to be.” _

He planned on leaving. 

She knew he wanted to leave the Rebellion back when their base was standing, but she didn’t care. She had been annoyed that he wanted to leave, but that was more so because they needed every hand they could get to fight the war.

It was different now. He wasn’t just another asshole that she argued with; he was  _ Bellamy.  _

He was funny, which made the hours they spent working on the  _ Falcon  _ pass easily. The more time she spent with him, the better she understood him, and the  _ more she wanted to know him.  _ She loved the way he approached problems, and the way he trash-talked Murphy, and the way his face lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about.

He was stuck on this miserable mining colony with her, yet he made it bearable. He held her when she woke up screaming, and encouraged her to talk, and was  _ there  _ for her.

She couldn’t remember the last person that had been there for her.

Clarke didn’t want Bellamy to leave — not because the Rebellion needed him — but because  _ she  _ needed him.

She faltered. When did she start caring about him so much? And when did he become  _ Bellamy  _ to her, not Blake?

She refused to think about it. The more she thought about things, the more they seemed to spiral out of control.

“What, uh… What do you plan on doing after?” she asked, indirectly trying to figure out if he still planned to leave the Rebellion.

He was silent for a long moment before he replied. “I don’t know.”

Hope blossomed in her chest.

_ Hope was a dangerous thing. _

“I thought I knew what I wanted to do,” Bellamy continued. “I have debts to pay, and I’ve been avoiding them for too long. Once I get those sorted, I… uh. I wanted to go back to Corellia.”

“That’s the planet you were born on?” Clarke faintly remembered him mentioning it once before. Outside of the name of his home planet, she didn’t know much about his childhood.

“Yeah, that’s where I grew up.” He was studying the ceiling intently. “I haven’t told anyone before, but I used to have a family. I mean, everyone has a family when they’re younger — of course — but I used to have a  _ sister. _ ” The corners of his lips turned up the slightest bit. “Her name’s Octavia. Or was? I’m not sure.”

There wasn’t a delicate way to phrase her next question, so she didn’t bother trying. “You don’t know if she’s alive?”

Bellamy’s laugh was bitter. “No. We got separated when we were kids. When we were growing up, it was just us and our mom. Right before our mom died, she told me that I was responsible for Octavia now — that I had to take care of her, no matter what. I tried, but we were kids trying to survive on a planet overrun with war. We weren’t on our own for too long before we were separated. I haven’t seen her since.”

Clarke suddenly felt bad for wishing he changed his mind about leaving. It was shocking for her to realize she never stopped to think about his life before they met — all she thought about was how he was an asset to the Rebellion and should stay. 

_ There was so much more to Bellamy than she knew. _

She remembered thinking before how she didn’t care to figure out who he was. Now, all she could care about was figuring him out.

“What was your sister like?”

They didn’t sleep much that night, too caught up in each other. Clarke learned that Bellamy’s dedication to the people he loved was something he carried with him his whole life. He loved his sister, and dedicated most of his life to protecting her.

She learned that he was a terror as a child, but that didn’t surprise her much; he was still a terror. He had a fascination with mythology from across the galaxy, but never believed in the Jedi Order until he met Wells — a Jedi in training — only three years ago.

Bellamy talked about the beach he grew up beside, and the trees he used to climb, and the time he fell off a shallow cliff and broke his arm. She talked about the beaches on Alderaan, and the time she had to get her leg stitched up after she cut it open trying to save a sea turtle.

As the night progressed, the more Clarke decided she really did not want the  _ Falcon _ to get fixed. She didn’t want Bellamy to leave the Rebellion, even though she knew that wish was selfish. She didn’t want to return to her responsibilities, even though she knew she needed to.

She wished they could spend more time together in the city in the clouds.

* * *

**vi. day 6**

The  _ Falcon _ was almost fixed.

Clarke hated it as much as she did the night before. Their ship being almost-flyable again meant they were going to have to leave Cloud City soon. She never expected Cloud City to feel like a home to her, but it did. She felt like a different person here, and she liked this different side of her.

Bellamy was working in the small engine room off the main hold while Clarke sat in the cockpit. She wasn’t too confident she was replacing the wires correctly, but nothing had caught fire, and she took it as a good sign.

An hour after she started working, Bellamy yelled.

She was running before she could think twice about it.

Clarke dashed down the hallways of the ship, her heart pounding in her chest and a million thoughts running through her mind. He sounded hurt. Were they being attacked? Did something go wrong? Did the Empire find them? She wished she would’ve grabbed her blaster when she left the cockpit, but all she was holding was a strand of red wiring and a set of pliers.

She met Bellamy in the main hold seconds after his scream. His face was twisted in discomfort and he clutched tightly at his left hand. Blood was already seeping through his fingers and running down his wrist. He grimaced when their eyes met.

“Oops.”

Clarke rushed forward. Her hands were shaking at her side from the surge of adrenaline. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

“What happened?” She reached for his bleeding hand, her eyes scanning for the source of the blood. It didn’t take too long to figure out; there was a large gash along his palm.

“I may or may not have been trying to use a knife as a screwdriver again.”

Clarke gave him a hard look as she reached for the rag on the table. She wasn’t mad at him, even though she specifically warned him against using the knife for this very reason, but she was worried for him. 

Bellamy gasped when she pressed the cloth to the wound. She grimaced alongside him. Just seeing him in pain made her skin crawl.

“Sorry,” she said and pressed down on the wound. “We need to stop the blood flow. It’s pretty deep.”

Bellamy pouted and sunk to the couch behind him. “Are you going to tell me ‘I told you so?’”

Clarke sat on the table opposite to him, briefly lifting her gaze to meet his. She could tell he was in pain from the way he clenched his jaw, but was trying to hide it.

“No,” she answered simply, “because you and I both already know that I told you so.” A rush went through her when he smiled in response. “I mean, your method  _ did  _ work, even if it cut your hand open, so it wasn’t a complete failure.”

They lapsed into silence. Bellamy grimaced every time Clarke adjusted her hold on his hand. 

She could feel his breath along her face, like she did in bed. The only difference between this and nighttime was the fact she could  _ see  _ him now. Usually, the darkness masked his features. 

Now, with the sunlight streaming in from the window above them, she could see every freckle that dotted his cheeks, and all the various shades of brown in his eyes, and the scar on his upper lip. 

_ He was beautiful. _

They locked eyes. Her mouth ran dry. Her heart was beating inexplicably fast.

His gaze dipped down to her lips for the briefest moment, and her heart skipped a beat. 

_ Fuck. She wanted to kiss him. _

“Clarke.” His lips barely moved to form her name; he whispered it with so much emotion that it managed to render her speechless. Her fingers tightened on his wrist, aching to feel close to him.

When their gaze met again, her resolve cracked.

Their lips connected with such tenderness that it felt like her heart was cracking in two. She wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss, or if it really mattered. All she could think about was how  _ good  _ and  _ right  _ this felt.

The kiss was all too brief, ending truly before it began. Clarke pulled away from him, her heart pounding and eyes wide. Bellamy’s eyes remained closed a beat longer than hers did, and his lips remained parted.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever. 

Silence. Heavy breaths. Ghosting touches.

Then, he moved forward, capturing her lips again, this time with more desperation. His hand moved to cradle the side of her face, his fingers curling against her jaw. Her hands threaded into his hair, gripping the curls along the back of his head.

_ Kissing him was better than she imagined. _

His lips were soft and touches gentle. They moved easily together, like this was a well practiced dance, not a decision fueled by emotion. Kissing Bellamy stole all the thoughts from her mind and breath from her lungs.

She shifted forward, pulling their bodies closer together. It was easy to get lost in the kiss — panting breaths, warm lips, fire in her veins. Bellamy’s hand curled into her side, tugging her closer, and closer, and—

“Fuck.”

He pulled his hands off of her hastily and she stumbled backwards. Her breath came out in small pants and she tried to clear the fog from her mind. Bellamy was clutching his injured hand against his chest, his expression twisted with pain.

“Shit,” she breathed, her eyes zeroing in on his hand. She almost forgot he cut it open, and it seemed he did too when he grabbed her.

“It’s fine,” he dismissed. The cloth was pressed to the wound tightly and his shoulders tensed. It was clear it was not _ fine _ ; he was in pain. Still, Bellamy glanced up at her and tried to smile. “Ignore it. I’ll be fine.”

He moved forward to kiss her again, but she stepped backwards. Her heart was aching to be in his arms again, to kiss him until she was dizzy, but she refused to while he was hurt.

“No.” Bellamy looked thrown off by her words, and he jolted away from her. “Not right now,” she clarified. “You’re hurt and need stitches.” Clarke crouched in front of him, taking his hand with her own again. Their eyes locked and the corners of her lips quirked up. “Later.”

His smile looked like a grimace. “Later.”

.

Clarke stepped out of the bathroom, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. She heard their room door shut as she was brushing her teeth and couldn’t wait until she was done to see him.

She couldn’t hide her smile when they locked eyes. Bellamy had been gone most of the night, helping Murphy handle a malfunctioning lock on a landing platform. Clarke missed spending her evening with him — today more than usual, with the kiss lingering in her thoughts.

“Hey,” she greeted, her words garbled by her toothbrush. “How was your day?”

Bellamy tossed his jacket onto the chair and rubbed his face. “Too long.” It was ridiculous, the way her heart skipped a beat, when he ran his hand through his hair. She couldn’t stop thinking of  _ her  _ hands running through his hair, tugging on the curls, kissing those stupidly perfect lips, moving—

She cleared her throat and forced her eyes to focus on his.

“How’s your hand? Does it— Bellamy?”

He crossed the small room before she finished speaking, his eyes never leaving hers. The intensity in his gaze made her breath catch in her throat. He grabbed her hips and closed the distance between their lips for the second time that day.

Clarke melted against his body and let out a content hum. Her one free hand brushed through his curls while the other hung at her side, still holding her toothbrush.

The kiss quickly turned frantic and desperate. His teeth pulled at her lips. She tugged on his curls. His smile could be felt against her own lips. His fingers pushed under her shirt, and she nearly forgot how to breathe when their bare skin connected.

“My hand is the last thing on my mind,” Bellamy said, his voice hoarse. Clarke pressed a kiss against his jaw when they parted and he inhaled sharply.

“Mmmm, really? What have you been thinking about?” Her lips brushed against his skin as she spoke. His grip on her hips tightened the slightest bit.

“Fuck, princess,” he mumbled. “Like you don’t already know.”

His lips were back on hers. Her back pressed against the bathroom door frame. She wanted more of him —  _ needed  _ more of him. Her hand pulled at the hem of his shirt and they broke apart to pull it off completely. 

Before she could pull him against her again, her shirt was being tugged up as well. As she slipped it off her arms, her toothbrush got tangled in the sleeve, and it fell to the floor. Clarke wrinkled her nose.

“Disgusting.”

“Screw your toothbrush.”

Clarke lifted her eyebrow in his direction. “Eager, are we?”

In answer to her question, his lips pressed against her jaw and down her neck. Her hands roamed along his shoulder and down his back, the warmth growing in her by the second.

Clarke couldn’t stifle her moans anymore. Her nails dug into his skin as he continued to pepper kisses along her body. She tipped her head backwards and her hair spilled over her shoulders. His fingers brushed stray strands away from her skin, his touch so gentle that it made her heart ache.

She doubted anyone could make her feel like this; like her heart was going to crack from the tenderness, and like her body was going to explode from the want pooling inside her.

Clarke tugged his mouth back to hers. “Bed?”

He looked coy. “Now who’s the eager one?” She kissed him, her teeth tugging on his lips. When they parted, he looked breathless. “Bed.”

* * *

**vii. day 7**

“And there we have it! She’s all fixed up.” Bellamy turned to her, a wide grin on his face. “Time to go home, princess.”

He had streaks of grease across his face and sweat soaked hair, but she couldn’t recall a time where he looked more beautiful than in that moment. The corners of his eyes crinkled from the force of his smile and the genuine joy he radiated stole her breath.

Clarke launched herself into his arms, bliss overcoming her. Their lips met for a sweet kiss — one that mader legs weak and head spin.

“And you say you’re not a mechanic,” she teased him as she pulled back. His arms remained around her waist and hers around his shoulders. “You fixed this ship in one week. Pretty damn impressive, Blake.”

His head dipped down to steal another kiss from her. She could feel his smile against her lips. They broke apart when she let out a breathless laugh.

All too soon, the reality of the situation dawned on her. If the ship was fixed, that meant they were leaving Cloud City. She would return to her responsibilities, and he would leave the Rebellion  _ (and her)  _ in search of his sister.

Dread crept up from the pit of her stomach, snatching the smile off her lips. She didn’t want him to leave, now more than ever. She wanted him to come back to the Rebellion with her. She wanted to stand beside him in battles. She wanted to wake up beside him, just like she did every morning this week. She wanted to  _ be with him.  _ Not just on Cloud City. Not to play pretend.

She really, truly wanted to be with him.

“Hey,” Bellamy said, his smile slowly dropping off his face. His eyes bore into hers and his finger ghosted along her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want to tell him the truth either.

“Nothing,” she said simply. “I’m just thinking.”

“And whatever you’re thinking about is upsetting you.” She loved the way the corners of his lips tugged up with that, like he was proud at himself for solving a puzzle. “I can tell, Clarke. When you’re happy, your eyes light up like they’re the sun.”

Clarke always knew Bellamy was a flirt, but she never heard him so sappy before. That alone made her smile.

“It’s selfish.” Bellamy pressed a kiss to her forehead and her resolve cracked. She sighed. “I almost don’t want to leave,” she admitted quietly.

“Mm. Why?”

Her nose brushed against his neck. She wanted to savor this moment — this sweet moment. 

“I hate to say it, but I think I’ll miss you.” Clarke pulled her head away from his shoulder, a teasing smile on her face. She hoped it masked the truth behind her words.

_ She was, without a doubt, going to miss him. _

His smile was lopsided. “Are you, Clarke Griffin, admitting the fact that you actually  _ like  _ having me around?”

She hummed as she pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I thought I made that obvious?”

His hands tightened around her waist and she grinned coyly against his skin.

She never imagined this was where they would end up — standing in each others arms, kissing each others smiles, wishing for more time together. Clarke spent the last several years avoiding him whenever possible, and she almost regretted it now.

“This war has to end sometime,” he said, his voice low. “And I have a feeling that it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Things can wait.”

She could read between the lines.  _ And after the war is over, we might see each other again. If we both survive. If we both don’t leave this planet and forget about each other. _

It made her heart hurt.

“I’ll still miss you,” she breathed. 

She’d miss his smiles that made her heart flip, and his kisses that stole her breath, and his tenderness that made her chest ache. She’d miss how he talked to himself as he worked, and how he always threw himself into every project, and how he tried to use knives instead of tools. She’d miss how his arms would curl around her at night, and how he’d kick her feet away when her toes were too cold, and how he’d pull her to his chest when she woke shaking.

_ She’d miss him.  _

It was ridiculous, how she got so used to being around him this last week.

“No,” he pulled away from her and they locked eyes. “You don’t understand. I’m coming back with you, princess. I’m coming back to the Rebellion with you.”

Oh.

…

_ Oh. _

She could barely form the words. “But… What about Octavia?”

Bellamy pressed his lips together. “I miss her and I want to find her — I really do — but I don’t even know where to start. The galaxy is in chaos because of the war. Once it’s over, it’ll be easier to find her.” Clarke still couldn’t find the right words. “Besides, I want to see where this goes.”

“This?”

“Us.”

Clarke let out a breathless laugh and stepped out of his arms. She never imagined her future was going to be tied to Bellamy Blake’s, but now she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Bellamy leaned over and checked a measurement on the control panel. “I need to realign a satellite, and then we will be on our way home.”

_ Home. With Bellamy. _

She couldn’t hide her smile.

Clarke slid into the co-pilot chair as Bellamy exited the ship. She curled her leg on the chair so she could rest her chin on it and tried to calm the flutters in her heart. She distracted herself by running her eyes along the various switches and levers in front of her. She didn’t understand how anyone could fly this ship; it looked impossible to learn. How did anyone remember what each button did?

Clarke leaned forward the slightest bit, trying to read the worn out lettering beneath a few of the buttons in front of her. She reached forward, intending to wipe the dust from the panel, when—

“Get the fuck off me! Clarke!  _ Clarke!” _

_ Things spiralled out of control from here. _

Her heart was in her throat. Only one through ran through her mind.

_ Bellamy. _

She lunged for her blaster on the control panel, but it was too late. A rough hand clamped down on her shoulder and shoved her back in her chair, while the blade of a knife pressed against her throat.

“You are one hard princess to track.” The voice was hoarse and rough, and it sent a chill down Clarke’s spine.

_ They knew who she was. _

She struggled for a brief moment, until she felt the blade dig into her skin. Clarke froze, suddenly afraid that if she moved, the blade would move further.

Her heart was pounding and palms sweating. Her eyes were locked on the blaster across the dash from her, and she strained to hear what was going on. Bellamy was still shouting, although he sounded further away now.

She needed to get to him. Screw this, screw whatever —  _ she needed to get to Bellamy. _

Her eyes flicked to the centre console, where the box of tools was left. The handle of a screwdriver was mere inches out of her grasp. If she stretched, maybe she could...

She didn’t have to. A second person entered the room behind the man holding the knife to her throat. Whoever it was must’ve been enough of a distraction, as the knife went slack, and—

Clarke lunged forward, pushing the knife away from her throat with her right hand. Her left curled around the wooden handle of the screwdriver and she whirled around, stabbing the man with the knife in the neck.

She didn’t have time to watch him crumple to the ground. Her hands were slick with blood when she turned, reaching for the blaster on the dash, her heart racing, her head spinning—

Clarke was kicked forward and her head slammed into the control panel. Her knees buckled under her. Her blaster disappeared from view.

“Rebel scum.”

She was knocked unconscious.

.

When Clarke came to, she wasn’t in their room.

The memories came flooding back instantly. She jolted up, her blood rushing through her ears and heart pounding wildly in her chest.

It was a simple room; four white walls, one white floor, bright fluorescent lights above, one grey door. She was laying on the ground opposite to the door, her back pressed against the wall.

Her head was pounding. It felt like her brain was melting from the pain. She had to suppress a groan.

Her gaze jumped around the room in search of threats or ways out. Both came up negative. She was in this room — this cell — all alone, and the only way in and out looked to be the grey door mere feet in front of her.

Maybe it wasn’t a door. It didn’t have a handle to turn, nor did it have any hingles. It was a simple grey rectangle.  _ A simple grey rectangle that she wanted to pound on and demand answers. _

Answers to questions like where the fuck was Bellamy?

If she wasn’t terrified before, she was now. Why wasn’t he with her? What happened to him? She remembered how he yelled for her moments before a knife was put to her throat. Did something happen to him? Was he okay?

_ (Was he alive?) _

She staggered to her feet, her vision swimming. Her head felt light and forehead warm. Clarke pressed the back of her hand to it, only to pull it away covered in sticky blood. She stared at it for a long moment.

It was old and already drying, at least, but that was the only positive. She remembered smashing her head on the dash of the  _ Falcon  _ when she was kicked forward.

(After she stabbed someone.)

(She didn’t have time to think about that.)

She needed to get out of here. She needed to find Bellamy, and they needed to get off this planet.

As soon as the room stopped spinning, the grey door slid open. Before Clarke could begin to think of fighting whoever her captor was, Bellamy was shoved forward from the darkness. He landed roughly on his knees before collapsing to the ground. 

Clarke somehow found the strength to move across the room and sink to her knees beside him. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her hands shook, just inches from his body. He  _ looked  _ okay — she couldn’t see any blood — but he was hurt. He wasn’t moving.

Her eyes locked on his chest and she couldn’t tell if it was rising and falling. She moved without hesitation and pressed her palm against his chest. “Bellamy,” she breathed, her voice breaking on the word. He stirred the slightest bit at that, and she could’ve sobbed.  _ He was alive. _ “It’s me.”

His movements were jerky, but fingers curled around her wrist and his eyes fluttered open. Her fingers brushed the side of his face, worry squeezing her chest.

“Hey,” she breathed shakily. “It’s okay.”

Clarke was lying.  _ None  _ of this was okay.

Bellamy looked exhausted. Their eyes locked. Clarke was barely holding on to her composure.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough. “They didn’t even ask me any questions.”

She couldn’t keep her composure at that. She let out a sob and pressed their foreheads together.

.

Clarke was exhausted. If she guessed right, it must’ve been the middle of the night already, but it was hard to tell without any natural lighting. She was seated against the wall with Bellamy’s head in her lap. Her hand moved through his curls, the movement calming both of them.

She glanced down at Bellamy. He was asleep, if his breathing was anything to go by. She was relieved by that fact; he had been worn out from the interrogation process by the Imperial troops.

(Although, the idea behind ‘interrogation’ was asking questions, and neither of them had been asked any.)

(This  _ wasn’t _ an interrogation.)

(It was something much worse.)

Murphy betrayed them. She shouldn’t have been surprised — she felt something was wrong the moment she stepped off the ship. She remembered thinking of the political climate in Cloud City during their third day, and how close to impossible their neutral stance in the war was.

_ Her suspicious that day were correct.  _ There was no possible way to stay politically neutral in this war, and Cloud City chose the wrong side.

Clarke blamed herself for the situation they got themselves into; she  _ saw  _ the signs right in front of her, but she never put it together.

She wasn’t sure what was going to happen with them. Neither of them had been questioned, so she knew they weren’t looking for information. What other use did they have for them?

She couldn’t figure out why someone would go through all that trouble to find them if they had no use for them. Why did the Empire waste resources in tracking them down, but did nothing to them when they were caught?

It didn’t make any sense. If they wanted them dead by now, wouldn’t they have already done it?

Clarke sighed and rested her head against the cool wall. She wished she knew what was going to happen. She wished she could be prepared for whatever was to come. If she knew what they planned, she could’ve found a way out of this.  _ She was sure of it.  _ She was in charge of thousands of troops on multiple planets; her ability to organize and execute a plan was something she prided herself on, and she  _ knew  _ it could get them out of this situation.

“You’re thinking too much,” Bellamy said, his voice rough with sleep. He was staring at her, but made no move to get out of her lap. “You’re stressed.”

“How could I not be stressed?” she snapped. Clarke cringed as soon as she spoke; she didn’t mean to take her anger and frustration out on him. “Sorry. I’m just… stressed.”

“I know.” Bellamy caught her hand and linked their fingers together. “There’s nothing to stress about. We should relax.”

“Nothing to stress about?” She lifted her eyebrow. “I don’t know about you, Blake, but I consider being held captive by the Empire something to stress about.”

“We can’t do anything about it. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We are stuck in this room for what looks like a while. If we can’t do anything to change our situation, then we shouldn’t stress about it.”

Clarke let out a long breath. She didn’t like that plan. She needed to be thinking.

Otherwise, she was afraid she’d feel even  _ more  _ stressed. Too much time to think meant overthinking.

She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Clarke wished they were on the  _ Falcon _ together right now, headed back home together. It was funny; over the week, the one thing she grew to dread was flying back to the Resistance. Now, it was the only thing she wished for.

She broke the silence. “What do you think will happen to us?”

“I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he admitted. “I just… can’t.”

“They don’t want information, and they don’t want us dead. It’s almost like we’re being used as…” 

_ Oh, no.  _

Her blood turned icy in her veins.

“Bait,” Bellamy finished. His voice was guarded. “Yeah, that’s what I figured too. They know… They know we’re Wells’ friends, Clarke. He was the one to rescue you the last time you were captured by the Empire. And now, with all the Force shit and Vader…”

Clarke pressed her hands against the floor to keep them from shaking.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “You’re right.”

_ Bait. _

They were being used as bait. They were being kept alive long enough to draw Wells here, so he could be killed or worse.

Clarke felt like she was suffocating from this realization.  _ Wells was going to die, and they had no way to stop it. _

“It’ll be okay,” Bellamy told her after a minute. “Wells is smart. He won’t come.”

“Wells is loyal to a fault.  _ He’ll come. _ If he hears where we are, he’ll do anything to get to us.” She pressed the heels of her hand against her eyes. “Fuck.”

Wells was her best friend — of course he’d come for her. They spent the last three years together in Rebellion bases. Of course, Bellamy had been there, and he was friends with Wells too, but they had something different. Something closer. Wells was like family to her.

Bellamy was the one to break the silence again.

“You know, they only need one of us.”

She grew still at that. The enormity of the words crashed against her.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that only one of us needs to be used as bait.” His thumb brushed against the back of her hand. “Wells will come for one the same way he will come for two.”

“Then… why would they kill one of us?” She could barely get the words out. “If one or two don’t make a difference, why— I don’t understand.”

Clarke knew she was in denial. She knew she was, but she couldn’t begin to imagine the truth to Bellamy’s words. She didn’t want to.

“You know just as well as I do,” he pointed out. “Killing one of us would send a message that they’re serious. Keeping both of us alive would make it seem like they’re bluffing.”

She shook her head. “No. No, absolutely not.”

“It’s going to happen. We both know it, even if you’re pretending not to.”

“I’m not  _ pretending.  _ It’s the truth. It’s not going to happen.”

He ignored her. “You’ll be okay, Clarke. If one of us dies, Wells will come, no matter what. And… It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

“No!” She was at a loss for words. “Blake,  _ what the fuck? _ ”

“Back to Blake, are we?”

“Oh,  _ that’s  _ what you choose to comment on? Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck this. Fuck… Fuck!” Clarke was on the verge of hysterics. Her throat became uncomfortably tight. Her eyes burned. Her whole body ached. “You’re so fucking stupid if you think I’ll just let you  _ die _ , Bellamy.”

“We both know who they’ll choose.” He spoke nonchalantly, like they were talking about the weather, not his murder. “You’re a leader of the Rebellion and I’m just a flyboy, as you put it the first time we met. You’re good leverage.”

He was fishing for a smile. She wanted to tell him off.

“Besides, Wells came for you once before,” he reminded her. “They know that. They know he’ll come again for you. With me? They have no idea how close we are, or if we’re friends, or what. I don’t guarantee them anything. You do.”

“Bellamy, stop. This is—”

“The truth.” He gripped her hand. “Clarke,  _ it’s going to happen.  _ Tomorrow morning, they’ll come through those doors and drag me off and that will be that.”

She found the energy to scoot away from him. He pulled himself into a sitting position and watched her.

“I— I— No.” She desperately hung onto denial. “No, that’s  _ not  _ what’s going to happen. You’re not just going to be dragged to your death because  _ what the actual fuck.  _ That’s so… dark. And horrible. And— no. I refuse!”

“We don’t have much of a say in this, princess. Do you think I like the idea of getting dragged to my death? No. Of course not! But this isn’t something we can fight out way out of, and we don’t have anything to gamble with. I mean, if we did, we’d be golden because I can gamble  _ and win  _ with my eyes shut.”

She wasn’t in the mood to joke. “Bellamy,” she snapped.

“It’ll be fine. It’s just… reality. It sucks, but what can we do?”

“What can we do?” she echoed. “Try to get out of here! What about Murphy? Can’t you ask him to help us?”

His expression darkened. “He’s the reason we’re in the mess. He gave us up. Besides, who do you think has more power here? John Murphy or the Galactic Empire?”

“Well, I’m not giving you up that easily,” she snapped. She was angry — angry at everything. “You said that I’m leverage? I’ll put that to good use then! I’ll bargain with them if you’re right — if they show up tomorrow morning to murder you. I… I mean, I could offer them something. Or, pretend to, so we have more time to figure something out.”

He was silent.

Her mind was whirling. She wasn’t going to sit here while someone she loved was getting murdered. Clarke had been in impossible situations before, and she always got out of them.

_ Always. _

“I don’t think we’ll have enough time to figure out where the garbage chutes you,” he said, his voice tinged with disappointment. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Nonetheless, her heart clenched.

The first time they met was in a garbage chute. It was three years ago. She called him flyboy and insulted his rescue attempt. He called her princess and tossed her his gun without hesitation, despite only knowing each other for ten seconds.

Clarke couldn’t hold on any longer. An overwhelming wave of sadness hit her and she broke down sobbing.

“You’re not dying, Bellamy.  _ You aren’t. _ You can’t. You can’t.”

He held her as she cried.

* * *

**+i. day 8**

He was right — he wasn’t dying.

It was something much, much worse.

He was being frozen in carbonite, something that hadn’t been performed on any humanoid life species, and then being shipped back to a war criminal to display as some sick trophy.

Clarke tried everything she could. She bargained, and begged, and pleaded, but  _ nothing. _

This was happening, and there was nothing she could do to change it.

The room that they were both dragged to was dark and smoky, and the air smelled acidic. Imperial troops stood every few feet, their blasters drawn and pointed at them. Her shoulders ached from where they were twisted around her back. 

They stood nose to nose, mere inches separating him. Her throat was tight with emotion. She couldn’t speak. She wanted to scream and beg, but she knew this was as good as they were going to get.

_ He would be frozen and she would be used as bait. _

“I’ll be okay,” Bellamy said, his voice hoarse. His gaze was locked on hers. “I promise.”

She thought back to when they were landing on this horrible planet, when she told him not to make promises he couldn’t keep.

Call her foolish, but this was the one promise she  _ needed  _ to believe. If she didn’t have hope, what did she have?

She made a promise of her own. “I’ll come for you. When I get out of here.  _ We’ll come for you.” _

His head dipped down for a final kiss. She tried to pour all of her emotions into it — all of the love she had for him, all of the hope, all of the desperation. When he was pulled backwards, she couldn’t look away.

And, as he was lowered on a platform — to what could’ve very well been his death — she was half tempted to tell him.

_ ‘I love you.’ _

Clarke had loved him for a long time; as an ally, and as a friend, and now as something more.

_ She didn’t say it.  _

She had a feeling he already knew.

**Author's Note:**

> While the ending of this fic is ambiguous and angsty, it is parallel to the ending Han got in The Empire Strikes Back. Bellamy's journey past the ending of this fic also reflected Han Solo's journey, which includes being rescued by Clarke in a few weeks/months. And then they go on to fall in love and kick some Galactic Empire ass.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)  
You can find the moodboard for this fic [here](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/post/188710961862/a-castle-in-the-clouds)!


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